Half Hidden By Dark Light
by AlwaysPadfoot
Summary: I've got my fingers crossed that maybe there won't be any more dramatics but I'm a Potter, the Potter, so trouble just finds me. Follow Ivy Potter as she starts to realise that there's no such thing as a quiet year at Hogwarts. What lengths is she truly prepared to go to to defeat Voldemort? Not just copied from the book with name changes, this will be AU. T for language. R
1. Chapter 1

**- Half Hidden By Dark Light -**

**- aimz666 –**

**Disclaimer: **Anything you recognise is not mine :(

**Competition**: The MultiChapter Competition **AND **The School Subjects Competition (Transfiguration)

**Prompts: **Any character that has at least one line of dialogue must carry or pick up a book during any time in the chapter and for as long as you want, from half a second to throughout the chapter.

**Word Limit:** Minimum 500 words

**Word Count**: 4,369

**Beta**: earlyable

**AN: **ENJOY! Please R&R :)

**Chapter 1 – Book Throwing is an Olympic Sport you know.**

It's July 31st today.

I'm turning thirteen, officially a teenager but I don't think I'll be celebrating it with my Aunt, Uncle and Dudley the Doughball. What made everything so much worse was I wasn't even allowed to leave the house because Vernon's sister, Marge, was coming and I had to be on my best behaviour and work like a house elf otherwise Vernon wouldn't sign my Hogsmeade form.

Yes, this year I would be entering my third year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and I sincerely hoped that perhaps my friends and I could have a somewhat peaceful year. One where Voldemort wasn't stuck to the back of my Professors head or where Tom Riddle himself didn't decide it was fun to possess me and unleash Slytherin's Basilisk upon the Muggleborns.

I'd left Hogwarts in the Summer, and despite the traumatising and exhausting year I'd just had, I wanted to go back desperately. I didn't want to spend a month longer here; I didn't even want to spend a week here and for the first time since I'd gone to Hogwarts, the Dursleys were actually making me stay in the house while Marge was here.

I wasn't so much that I hated Marge it was more about the run-ins that I had with her huge pitbull, Ripper. She always brought him, apparently she couldn't stand leaving him and vice versa but either way both of them made my life miserable. The worst run-in with Ripper that I remember was about three years ago when I stood on Ripper's tail and he chased me into the garden. I had nowhere to hide or go but up the willow tree at the back of the garden. That's where I stayed until way past midnight when Marge called the beast off so she could get to sleep.

I didn't even want to get out of bed but if I didn't get up soon I certainly wouldn't be having breakfast and I'd probably have to put up with my Aunt screaming at me to get up. Eventually I kicked my legs out of head and wandered across the landing to grab a quick shower. It was exceedingly quick because after about five minutes Dudley started pounding of the door and shouting at me to get out before he just walked in. My cousin was such a jerk and his friends were even worse, particular Piers Polkins who tried to make a move on me every time I'd seen him this summer.

"GET OUT OF THE SHOWER!"

"I swear, if you come in here, I will curse you," I retorted enjoying the refreshing water in preparation for another bout of hot weather today and probably a bunch of exhausting chores.

"But-But-But you're not allowed to do magic outside that freakish school of yours," he stuttered.

"Darn, I guess I'll just get my friends older brother round to give you a nice pigs tail to match those piggy eyes you've got." I think I vaguely heard him curse under his breath and waddle off to tattle-tale on me. Typical.

I finished showering without any other interruptions before twisting my red hair up into a messy bun, changing into a loose-fitting pair of jeans that used to be Dudley's when he was about seven and an old Quidditch t-shirt that I'd gotten from Seamus in my first year. Luckily, it didn't actually have the word Quidditch on it so it was acceptable and at least it fit compared to half the stuff in my cupboard. A lot of it was Dudley's, Aunt Petunia claimed that it passed as uni-sex clothing but it obviously wasn't and I often had to turn the waistband a few times over in order to keep the jeans up.

I slowly made my way downstairs and into the kitchen and plonked down in the seat between Vernon and Dudley. Nobody acknowledged my entrance, this was a good sign that Dudley had been too distracted to tell his parents what I'd said to him. I helped myself to a piece of toast and then looked up at the reporter on the television, who was halfway through a report on an escaped convict.

"… the public is warned that Black is armed and extremely dangerous. A special hotline has been set up, and any sighting of Black should be reported immediately."

"No need to tell us he's no good," snorted Uncle Vernon, staring over the top of his newspaper at the prisoner. "Look at the state of him, the filthy layabout! Look at his hair!" I stared into the eyes of the man now being shown on the television set and I couldn't help but wonder whether I'd seen him somewhere. Both Petunia and Vernon shot nasty looks in my direction as if my naturally messy hair, which I'm told was a trait my father had, and ill-fitting clothes were suddenly my fault. There was no way I looked as terrible as the guy on the screen, I rolled my eyes and continued to slowly munch on my toast. The reporter had reappeared so the attention was quickly diverted from me.

"The Ministry of Agriculture and Fisheries will announce today —"

"Hang on!" barked Uncle Vernon, staring furiously at the reporter. "You didn't tell us where that maniac's escaped from! What use is that? Lunatic could be coming up the street right now!"

I very much doubt this Black guy would want to visit this street of all places but even so Aunt Petunia apprehensively turned to the window and peered intently through it as if scrutinising every single inch of the street outside in great detail. I just bet that she'd love to call a hotline number because she was most definitely the single most-nosiest person I'd ever met in my entire life.

"When will they learn," said Uncle Vernon, pounding the table with his large purple fist, "that hanging's the only way to deal with these people?"

"Very true," said Aunt Petunia, who was still squinting into next door's runner-beans. I daren't get involved with such a conversation because right now it's just not worth it and Petunia would probably say I was deliberately opposing their thoughts and being difficult.

Uncle Vernon drained his teacup, glanced at his watch, and added, "I'd better be off in a minute, Petunia. Marge's train gets in at ten." My thoughts had been consumed for a moment by the thoughts of my friends' holidays that I didn't manage to stop myself from speaking.

"Bloody Hell," I muttered to myself but obviously Vernon and Petunia heard me.

"Marge'll be here for a week," Petunia began, _great, lecture time_, "and while we're on the subject, we need to get a few things sorted before your Uncle goes and collects her." Dudley smirked and withdrew his gaze from the television. Watching me being lectured by his parents was one of Dudley's favourite forms of entertainment.

"Firstly," Petunia said, "you're to be polite at all times especially when you're talking to your aunt." She wasn't even related to me by blood, why do I still have to call her Aunt?

"All right," I answered bitterly, finishing my toast in a huff and added quietly, "I can't guarantee it though."

"Secondly," said Petunia, ignoring my last comment, "as your Aunt doesn't know anything about your abnormality, I don't want any — any freakish stuff while she's here. You behave yourself, understand?"

"I couldn't if I wanted too," I retorted through gritted teeth, annoyed by the Underage Magic Ban and the fact that all my school stuff except for my wand was locked under the stairs.

"And thirdly," Aunt Petunia began, "we've told Marge you attend a Finishing School for Unruly Girls."

"What?!" I yelled, almost dropping the plate I'd got up to wash.

"You will be sticking to that story, girl, or there'll be trouble," spat Uncle Vernon, who had been watching Petunia lay down the ground rules from the doorway. I wasn't so much scared of Uncle Vernon's threats because at the end of the day it was Petunia who dished out my punishments and chores. I stood perfectly still in the middle of the kitchen for a little while longer, shaking somewhat. This had to be the worst birthday present the Dursley's had ever given me; even worse than the fifty pence coin and the coat hanger they'd sent for Christmas in the first year of Hogwarts.

I hated how whether or not I visited Hogsmeade depended on this next week and I couldn't even see my friends to complain to them about just how rubbish this was going to be. As Uncle Vernon left, I slipped back upstairs to the room that had once been Dudley's second room. They'd finally realised this summer that I was no longer small enough to live in the cupboard under the stairs, although Petunia still liked to use it as a threat.

Personally I was quite happy avoiding it. The dark seemed to be making me more and more edgy these days.

When I reached my room, I flopped down on the bed and looked over at the birthday cards on my bedside that had come from various people. The three cards in the front came from my best friends: Seamus Finnigan, Hermione Granger and Neville Longbottom. I got a Broom Servicing Kit, a copy of Advanced Potions and Defence and a huge jar of bite size chocolate frogs as presents respectively off them along with cards from the Weasley twins, Oliver Wood, Katie Bell, Alicia Spinnet, Angelina Johnson and Robin Hammond, all of which I played Quidditch with.

I was Gryffindor's reserve player because there had been no place on the team when I reached second year. I was there in case of injury on the field; basically I'd had some play in the only match Gryffindor played last season in place of Robin. I caught the snitch but that was all I was able to do because I was attacked by a Rogue Bludger - thanks to a house elf named Dobby - and then some idiot removed all the bones in my arm, mentioning no names, cough cough, Lockhart, cough.

You could say it was one disaster after another.

I still got a few other cards from various people I saw around Hogwarts particularly one very apologetic letter from Justin Finch-Fletchley, who seemed quite distraught that he'd not spoken to me the whole year after thinking I'd been the heir of Slytherin. I'd figured out that I'd been a Parseltongue in my first year, after setting a Boa Constrictor on Dudley the previous summer I just had to find out exactly why I could have quite a pleasant conversation with a snake. Of course I'd got Hermione's help to find out exactly what it was and I'd certainly been trying to keep it secret before that fateful day at Lockhart's duelling club.

My Familiar, Toggle, came and lay on my stomach; I'd had Toggle ever since my first trip to Diagon Alley. The owner of the pet shop there said he was a Kneazle, that they had high level intelligence and had a Ministry Classification of XXX, which meant competent wizards should cope with one. He was pretty independent and I didn't really need to control him although he could be quite aggressive to people he didn't like and because of his ability able to detect untrustworthy beings he hated the Dursley's. Toggle was intelligent enough to stay away after I had to drag him away from Dudley when he first met him. I was 100% sure he wouldn't be able to stand Marge. Then there was Ripper, I sighed.

"Togs, you're going to have to go to Neville's for a week," I told her stroking his speckled grey fur gently as he lay there. He kind of gave me one of her sympathetic looks and pounced off the bed and to the window. I watched him bounce onto the low roof, then onto the fence and then he disappeared from sight.

It wasn't long before Aunt Petunia started shrieking up the stairs for me to come downstairs to get ready for the arrival of old Aunt Marge.

"Sort your hair out," she snapped when I reached the hallway indicating to the bun on top of my head.

"What's the point?" I knew even if I put it up in a proper bun it would all just pop out anyway besides Aunt Marge just loved to criticise me so if she was criticising me then she'd stay happy and maybe this would be a painless as possible.

It wasn't long before the sound of Uncle Vernon's car pulling up on the drive made my stomach tie itself in knots and my mind suddenly came up with lots of reasons of how this week could go horribly wrong.

Aunt Petunia ignored my retort and snapped at me to get the door. Sulkily I pulled the front door open. On the doorstep stood Aunt Marge. She was very like Uncle Vernon, part whale; she even had a moustache. In one hand she held an enormous vomit coloured suitcase, and tucked under the other was the evil-tempered bulldog, Ripper. I glared at the dog and it seemed to glare back at me.

"Where's my Dudders?" roared Aunt Marge. "Where's my neffy poo?" Urgh, she makes me sick, she's worse than Petunia with her stupid nicknames. Dudley came waddling down the hall, a bow tie just visible under his many chins. Aunt Marge thrust her suitcase into my stomach, knocking the wind out of me, seized Dudley in a tight one-armed hug, and planted a large kiss on his cheek.

I've decided I hate her as much as Ripper.

I knew perfectly well that Dudley only put up with Aunt Marge's hugs because he was well paid for it, and sure enough, when they broke apart, Dudley had a crisp twenty-pound note clutched in his fat fist. That's nice – where's my twenty quid? Not that I'd have much use for pounds.

"Petunia!" shouted Aunt Marge, striding past me as if I'd suddenly become part of the furniture. Thank god – I didn't really want her to pass comment on me. Aunt Marge and Aunt Petunia kissed, making me grin a little. Uncle Vernon now came in, smiling jovially as he shut the door, his eyes falling to me struggling to hold up Marge's suitcase before he turned his attention back to his sister.

"Tea, Marge?" he said. "And what will Ripper take?"

"Ripper can have some tea out of my saucer," said Marge. Aunt Petunia paled a little, she hated all animals so that was really going to impress her. They all proceeded into the kitchen, leaving me alone in the hall with the suitcase but I'm not complaining; any excuse not to be with Aunt Marge was fine by me. I began to heave the case upstairs into the spare bedroom, taking as long as I could without actually hurting myself getting the case upstairs.

By the time I got back to the kitchen, Aunt Marge had been supplied with tea and half a fruitcake, and Ripper was lapping noisily in the corner. I watched Aunt Petunia wince slightly as specks of tea and drool flecked her clean floor.

"Who's looking after the other dogs, Marge?" Uncle Vernon asked.

"Oh, I've got Colonel Fubster managing them," boomed Aunt Marge, what a stupid name. "He's retired now, good for him to have something to do. But I couldn't leave poor old Ripper. He pines if he's away from me."

I bet he bloody hates her. Ripper began to growl at me as I sat down at the table. This directed Aunt Marge's attention to me for the first time. Great, idiot dog.

"So!" she barked. "Still here, are you?"

"Yes," I said.

"Don't you say 'yes' in that ungrateful tone," Aunt Marge growled, that wasn't an ungrateful tone at all. "It's damn good of Vernon and Petunia to keep you. You'd have gone straight to an orphanage if you'd been dumped on my doorstep." I wish they'd done that but I refrained from saying it out loud, for the sake of Hogsmeade. Although I wasn't able to keep the scowl off my face.

"Don't you scowl at me!" boomed Aunt Marge, making me jump. "I can see you haven't improved since I last saw you. I hoped school would have sorted some manners out for you." She took a large gulp of tea, wiped her moustache, "Where is it that you send her, again, Vernon?"

"She attends a Finishing School for Unruly Girls," said Uncle Vernon promptly. "Free of charge, of course." I clenched my fists under the table, unruly my arse.

"I see," said Aunt Marge. "What form of punishment do they use, girl? Corporal I hope," she barked across the table.

"Er —" I didn't quite know what to say, corporal punishment? Do they even use that any longer? I didn't think they still used in on girls in any case. Maybe in Finishing Schools, Uncle Vernon answered my question and nodded curtly behind Aunt Marge's back.

"Yes,". Then, feeling I might as well do a good job because clearly Aunt Marge was stupid, I added, "All the time."

"Excellent," said Aunt Marge. "I won't have this namby-pamby, wishy-washy nonsense about not hitting people who deserve it. A good thrashing is what's needed in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred. Have you been hit often?"

"Oh, yeah," I said, "but I do try to avoid it." Aunt Marge narrowed her eyes.

"I still don't like your tone, girl," she said. "If you can speak of your punishment in that casual way, they clearly aren't hitting you hard enough. I often frowned upon the use corporal punishment on girls but in your case," she glared at me, "it's necessary. Petunia, I'd write if I were you. Make it clear that you approve the use of extreme force in this girl's case."

I rolled my eyes and glared at her. I think perhaps Uncle Vernon was worried that I might forget our bargain so he changed the subject abruptly.

"Heard the news this morning, Marge? What about that escaped prisoner, eh?"

Over the next few days as Aunt Marge started to make herself at home, I caught myself dreaming of Number Four without her. Usually I'd stay out of the way of the Dursley's and they would stay out of mine and life would be as pleasant as possible but Aunt Marge seemed to want me around if only to compare me to Dudley and suggest things that I should be improving. She delighted in comparing me with Dudley, and took huge pleasure in buying him expensive presents while glaring at me, as though daring me to ask why I hadn't got a present too but I kept my cool and passed no comments on Dudley's new GameCube or TV set or the occasional ten or twenty pound note.

Marge also kept throwing out dark hints about what made me such an unsatisfactory person and every time she did I got more and more annoyed by her comments but I had to keep chanting _it's all about Hogsmeade_ in my head to myself to calm down.

"You mustn't blame yourself for the way the girl's turned out, Vernon," she said over lunch on the third day. "If there's something rotten on the inside, there's nothing anyone can do about it."

I tried to concentrate on my food, but my hands shook and my face was starting to burn with anger. _Remember the form_, I told myself. _Think about Hogsmeade. Don't say anything. Don't rise —_

Aunt Marge reached for her glass of wine - at Lunch time!

"It's one of the basic rules of breeding," she said. "You see it all the time with dogs. If there's something wrong with the bitch, there'll be something wrong with the pup —"

That does it.

At that moment, the wineglass Aunt Marge was holding exploded in her hand. Shards of glass flew in every direction and Aunt Marge sputtered and blinked, her great fat face dripping.

"Marge!" squealed Aunt Petunia. "Marge, are you alright?"

"Not to worry," grunted Aunt Marge, mopping her face with her napkin.

"Must have squeezed it too hard. Did the same thing at Colonel Fubster's the other day. No need to fuss, Petunia, I have a very firm grip…"

But Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were both looking at me suspiciously now, so I decided I should skip dessert and escape from the table.

I reached my room, closing the door and leaning against it, breathing deeply but still shaking. It had been a long time since I'd lost control like that. I couldn't afford to let it happen again. The Hogsmeade form wasn't the only thing I'd lose — if I carried on like this, I'd be in trouble with the Ministry of Magic. Being an underage wizard, I was forbidden by wizard law to do magic outside school and thanks to Dobby my record wasn't exactly clean either. I would face expulsion from Hogwarts if the Ministry got wind of magic being done at Number Four.

The next day I decided to sneak up to my room and read my Advanced Defence book. I was quite happy sitting on my bed, book nestled between my legs as I read but Dudley burst in. He ripped the book out of my hands, without even reading the front cover and held it high out of my reach.

"Give it back," I said, trying to add a warning tone to my voice.

"No!"

"GIVE IT BACK!" I made a lunge at Dudley and surprisingly he dodged, breaking into a waddling run. I chased him down the stairs and turned around in the hallway.

"Come on Potter, do you really want your book back," he teased, balancing on his podgy feet as he held the book above his head a good foot out of my reach,

"Stop being a jerk!" I shouted at him and he stepped back a few steps, when suddenly the book was snatched away from him. Oh God, please don't let this be happening, Aunt Marge was now studying the front of the book. My eyes widened and I felt myself pale. A million different scenarios arrived in my mind but I couldn't act on what was already panning out in front of me - it was like I was frozen in place.

Finally I came to a decision, "UNCLE VERNON!"

Luckily Uncle Vernon appeared almost instantly, "What in blazes is go-?" I fixate my eyes on the book hoping to relay the message with a matter of urgency and his beady little eyes followed my line of sight. After just seconds, he wrenched the book from Aunt Marge's clutches and his small brain started trying to come up with something to say. Maybe if I said something that covered this up then the Dursleys would still sign my form and besides I could quite easily blackmail them since Aunt Marge would still be around.

"Uncle Vernon, give me back my book, it's only a storybook!" I yelled for dramatic effect, unfortunately I sensed that he'd also come up with a rather nasty retort.

"You stole this, you stole this and brought this back to our house!" He hissed, a mean glint in his eyes as he chucked the book through the kitchen door with a thump.

"I didn't!"

"Are you just going to let her talk to you like that Vernon," Marge cut in, her face etched with disgust as I glared at Uncle Vernon for throwing my book. He strode over to me and grasped my upper arm firmly before dragging me into the kitchen. In the kitchen, Petunia was stood with the book at her feet and Uncle Vernon flung me forward so forcefully I stumbled and fell to my knees.

"I want you to explain just how close that was and how you're going to apologise," Vernon sneered, "I'm going to take Marge and Dudders out for a little while." He directed the second half of his sentence at his wife before slamming the door behind him. Slowly I dragged myself to my feet just as Aunt Petunia bent down to pick up my Advanced Defence Book.

"Where did this come from?" Her voice was quiet yet firm. It was often hard to picture my Aunt mad or even threatening but this was her pissed-off voice and it scared me.

"One of my friends gave it to me for my birthday," I replied calmly, "I was just reading it."

"You know full well you shouldn't be doing anything freakish like this," she scowled, chucking the book at me so it hit be square in the chest. I winced as it caught me sharply but I stopped it from falling to the floor once more.

"It's school work - I have to do it," I retorted, "I'll get into trouble -"

She interrupted, "It doesn't matter to us whether you get into trouble."

"It should-" I began before she slapped me hard, I take a step back away from her and before she can speak I press on, "When I fail my Professors are going to want to know why, they might send you a letter or perhaps they may even come and visit."

It was now my Aunts turn to pale substantially, the last thing she'll want is my kind turning up in her house drawing attention from the neighbours. Not that any of my teachers would be extreme enough to turn up here.

Eventually she forced me to hand the book back over to her and she locked away under the stairs with the remainder of my school equipment. The only exception, well I say exception they were more like unknown quantities, were my wand, broom servicing kit and the other Advanced Potions book Hermione had given me, all of which Aunt Petunia had no idea about.

How was I going to get through the remaining days without something going wrong?

Three days to go.


	2. Chapter 2

**- Half Hidden By Dark Light -**

**- AlwaysPadfoot –**

* * *

**Disclaimer: **Anything you recognise is not mine :(

**Competition**: The MultiChapter Competition **AND **The School Subjects Competition (Transfiguration)

**Prompts: ** Two of the elements: **two of the words 'water', 'fire', 'wind' or 'earth' must appear at least once in any time in your next chapter.** You can choose which two you want to use, but **you cannot use more than those two; ****only two of the words must appear.**

**Word Limit:** Minimum 500 words

**Word Count**: 4651

**Beta**: earlyable

**AN: **ENJOY! Please R&R :)

* * *

**Chapter Two – Blowing Up Evidence and Everyone's **_**Favourite**_** Bus**

I don't know how I got through the next three days but I guessed tuning out whenever Marge spoke to or about me worked pretty well except for when she suggested that I was a thief - her new favourite insult - or that I was retarded in some way, I believe she worded it as mentally subnormal. I stopped tuning out after that.

But finally after the longest week I'd ever to spend at the Dursley's home it reached the final night of Aunt Marge's stay.

Aunt Petunia cooked a fancy dinner, which I had to serve, and Uncle Vernon uncorked several bottles of wine. We got all the way through the soup and the salmon without a single mention of me at all; during the lemon meringue pie, Uncle Vernon bored us a with a long talk about Grunnings, his drill-making company; then Aunt Petunia made me make coffee and Uncle Vernon brought out a bottle of brandy.

"Can I tempt you, Marge?"

Aunt Marge had already had quite a lot of wine. Her huge face was very red; she should stick to water.

"Just a small one, then," she chuckled.

"A bit more than that… and a bit more… that's the ticket." That was definitely not a small one. Dudley was eating his fourth slice of pie, I didn't dare take any more food, Petunia, who was sipping coffee with her little finger sticking out, would go mental. I desperately wanted to leave and go to my bedroom but when I met Petunia's angry little eyes I knew I'd have to sit it out for a little bit longer.

"Aah," said Aunt Marge, smacking her lips and putting the empty brandy glass back down. "Excellent nosh, Petunia. It's normally just a fry-up for me of an evening, with twelve dogs to look after…" She burped richly and patted her great tweed stomach. Oh my god, I needed to go and throw up she's disgusting. "Pardon me. But I do like to see a healthy-sized boy," she went on, winking at Dudley. "You'll be a proper-sized man, Dudders, like your father. Yes, I'll have a spot more brandy, Vernon…"

A proper-sized man? Uncle Vernon's the size of three proper-sized men.

"Now, this one here —" She jerked her head at me and I felt my stomach clench. Think about something else.

"This one's got a mean, runty look about her. You get that with dogs. I had Colonel Fubster drown one last year. Ratty little thing it was. Weak. Underbred."

She just insinuated I should be drowned; I gripped the underside of the table and tried to think about the History of Magic homework I had yet to do.

"It all comes down to blood, as I was saying the other day. Bad blood will out. Now, I'm saying nothing against your family, Petunia" — she patted Aunt Petunia's bony hand with her shovel-like one "but your sister was a bad egg. They turn up in the best families. Then she ran off with a wastrel and here's the result right in front of us."

I stared at my plate my ears ringing. _The goblin revolutions of the 1600s were led by_, I thought, but failing miserably to remember which Goblin led them. Aunt Marge's voice was succeeding in irritating me not unlike the lunch where she called my mother a bitch.

"This Potter," said Aunt Marge loudly, seizing the brandy bottle and splashing more into her glass and over the tablecloth, "you never told me what he did?" Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were looking extremely tense. Dudley had even looked up from his pie to gape at his parents.

"He — didn't work," said Uncle Vernon, with half a glance at me. "Unemployed."

"As I expected!" said Aunt Marge, taking a huge swig of brandy and wiping her chin on her sleeve. "A no-account, good-for-nothing, lazy scrounger who —"

"No he was not," I hissed at her, "My father was a great man!" The table fell into a dead silence as I glared at Marge, my whole body shaking.

"MORE BRANDY!" yelled Uncle Vernon, who had gone very white. He emptied the bottle into Aunt Marge's glass.

"You, girl," he snarled at me but Petunia cut across him.

"Ivy, go to bed, go on —" she began but she too was interrupted.

"No, Petunia," hiccupped Aunt Marge, holding up a hand, her tiny bloodshot eyes fixed on mine. "Go on, girl, go on. Proud of your parents, are you? They go and get themselves killed in a car crash (drunk, I expect) —"

"They didn't die in a car crash!" I screamed, slamming my hands on the table and finding myself on my feet.

"They died in a car crash, you nasty little liar, and left you to be a burden on their decent, hardworking relatives!" screamed Aunt Marge, swelling with fury. "You are an insolent, ungrateful little —"

I was so angry but luckily Aunt Marge suddenly stopped speaking. For a moment, it looked as though words had failed her. She seemed to be swelling with inexpressible anger — but it didn't stop.

Her round red face started to expand, her tiny eyes bulged, and her mouth stretched too tightly for speech — next second, several buttons had just burst from her tweed jacket and pinged off the walls — one of which zoomed across the table and hit Dudley directly in the centre of the head. Marge was inflating like a monstrous balloon, her stomach bursting free of her tweed waistband, each of her fingers blowing up like a salami.

"MARGE!" yelled Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia together as Aunt Marge's whole body began to rise off her chair toward the ceiling. She was entirely round, now, like a giant beach ball with piggy eyes, her hands and feet stuck out weirdly as she drifted up into the air, making weird popping noises. Ripper came skidding into the room, barking madly.

"NOOOOOOO!"

Uncle Vernon seized one of Marge's feet and tried to pull her down again, but was almost lifted from the floor himself. A second later, Ripper leapt forward and sank his teeth into Uncle Vernon's leg. Maybe I liked that dog just a little bit more. Marge was bouncing along the ceiling towards the open conservatory doors, oh.

_Like hell I was staying here now._

I tore out of the room and to the cupboard under the stairs, which slammed open, breaking the lock, as I approached it. In a matter of seconds, I had heaved my trunk to the front door, sprinted upstairs and threw all my birthday cards and presents and everything else into a makeshift bag i.e. a pillow case and dashed back downstairs to my trunk, ready to leave.  
I wrenched the front door open just as Uncle Vernon burst out of the dining room, his trouser leg in bloody tatters. I don't think I'd ever seen him so mad; it was usually Petunia who shouted at me.

"COME BACK IN HERE!" he bellowed. "GET HER BACK AND PUT HER RIGHT!"

I pulled out my wand and pointed it directly between his eyes so he stopped from lunging at me.

"DON'T TOUCH ME, DON'T YOU DARE! SHE DESERVED WHAT SHE GOT!" I screamed as loud as I could, maybe the neighbours would hear. Without another word I span around and pulled my stuff out of the door and disappeared.

Within twenty minutes of the incident I had collapsed half-way up Magnolia Crescent against a wall several streets away from Privet Drive trying not to cry.

Five minutes ago I'd seen Marge float by high in the air and I'd smiled briefly but now I was irritated and cold. Not to mention scared. After the anger had died down, I realised I was all alone in the dark with absolutely nowhere to go and the worst of it was, I had just done serious magic, which meant that I probably had been expelled from Hogwarts. I had broken the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry so badly that I was surprised Ministry of Magic representatives weren't swooping down on me where I stood.

What was going to happen to me? Would I be arrested? No surely not, this was all a misunderstanding, just an accident. My head was whirling around so badly that I could barely think straight.

Right so I didn't any Muggle money, one of Marge's twenty pound notes would be good right now. There was a little wizard gold in the money bag at the bottom of my trunk, but the rest of my money that my parents had left me was stored in a vault at Gringotts Wizarding Bank in London. I'd never be able to drag his trunk all the way to London. Unless…

No, that was the stupidest train of thought I'd ever had, I was going to go to Neville's, not that I could walk there, I'd just take the Knight Bus. I was glad that my brain was slowly starting to work again. My wand was still clutched in my hand but as my mind was running through the appropriate way to call the Knight Bus I felt the sudden sensation that I was being watched. I shivered and looked up and down Magnolia Crescent but nobody was there. I bent over my trunk to find my money but almost immediately I stood up once more, my hand clenched around my wand. I sensed that someone or something was standing in the narrow gap between the garage and the fence behind me. I squinted down black alleyway. If only it would move, then I'd know whether it was just a stray cat or — something else.

"_Lumos_," I muttered, a light appeared at the end of my wand instantly lighting up the alleyway and there, between the wall and the garage, was the silhouette of something huge with wide gleaming eyes. In panic I stepped backwards falling over my trunk and landing on my butt on the pavement.

There was a deafening BANG, and I threw up my hands to shield my eyes against a sudden blinding light and a second later, a gigantic pair of wheels and headlights screeched to a halt right in front of me. I'd just called the Knight Bus accidently, what a stroke of luck.

The triple-decker, violently purple bus had appeared out of thin air. Gold lettering over the windshield spelled The Knight Bus. The conductor Stan jumped off the bus and onto the pavement next to me.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard just stick out your wand hand, step on board, and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is Stan Shunpike, and I will be your conductor this eve—"

The conductor stopped abruptly. He had just caught sight of me, still sitting on the ground. I snatched up my wand again and scrambled to my feet. Stan Shunpike was only a few years older than me, eighteen or nineteen at most, with large, protruding ears and quite a few pimples. He'd been in seventh year when I was in first year.

"Ivy Potter, what were you doin' down there?" said Stan, dropping his professional manner when he spotted me.

"Fell over," I responded sulkily.

"'Choo fall over for? sniggered Stan.

I rolled my eyes and scowled at him, "I didn't do it on purpose," I said annoyed.

One of the knees in my jeans was torn, and the hand I had thrown out to break my fall was bleeding. I suddenly remembered why I had fallen over and I turned around quickly to stare at the alleyway between the garage and fence. The Knight Bus's headlamps were flooding it with light, and it was empty.

"'Choo lookin' at? said Stan.

"Nothing," I answered, "C'mon, help me get this trunk on board." I tried to forget about the big black dog-like shape in the alleyway as Stan lugged my trunk on board and stowed under the back bed on the ground floor before accepting eleven sickles off me.

"Longbottom Manor please," I told Ern, the grey haired driver and he nodded furiously before I quickly sprinted and made it to the bed before Stan shouted down the bus.

"Take'er away, Ern," Stan called, sitting down in the armchair next to Ernie's.

There was another tremendous BANG, and I managed to not be thrown backward by the speed of the Knight Bus. I stared out of the dark window and where we were now bowling along a completely different street. Stan was watching me with curiosity.

"This is where we was before you flagged us down," he said. "Where are we, Ern? Somewhere in Wales?"

"Ar," said Ernie.

"What did'ya do this time?" Stan asked, casually leaning against a bed that was currently occupied by a snoring old wizard.

"Hey, it was more them," I snorted and Stan laughed, he'd heard me complain about my relatives far too many times. I used the Knight Bus to travel a lot particular during the summers, I used it to return from Diagon Alley before my first year and to the train station too.

I remember receiving my Hogwarts letter, Uncle Vernon had made me get the post and there on the doormat was a letter to me.

Miss Ivy Lilian Potter  
The Cupboard Under The Stairs  
Little Whinging  
Surrey  
London

I knew immediately that I shouldn't let my relatives see it, it just felt special and everything special I'd had the Dursley's had taken from me. I waited until I could read the letter alone later that night before rereading the letter half a dozen times before deciding to hide it in the pocket of my coat.

The following day the Dursley's offloaded me on Mrs Figg, an old lady whom had about forty cats and her house smelled of cabbage. I took the coat to walk over in and at some point, because I left it folded over the chair, my Hogwarts letter fell out. Next thing I knew, Mrs Figg was showing me how to Floo to Diagon Alley.

I came home with a Kneazle and a trunk full spellbooks and a magic wand. Aunt Petunia went ballistic, started screaming about I wouldn't go that freak school like her perfect sister had and I really lost it with her. I honestly couldn't believe all the things she was saying. I shouted back, telling her she had no right to keep me here and that I'd be going to Hogwarts whether she liked it or not.

I sat and stared out the window, anxiously waiting for my arrival at Longbottom Manor, wondering whether the Ministry would be waiting there for me or whether it would be a while before they tracked me down. Maybe they hadn't even caught the inflated Aunt Marge yet.

Stan had unfurled a copy of the Daily Prophet and was now reading with his tongue between his teeth. A large photograph of a sunken-faced man with long, matted hair blinked slowly at me from the front page. He looked strangely familiar.

"That man!" I said, forgetting my troubles for a moment. "He was on the Muggle news!" Stan turned to the front page and chuckled.

"Sirius Black," he said, nodding, "'Course 'e was on the Muggle news, Ivy. Where you been?" He gave a superior sort of chuckle at the blank look on my face, removed the front page, and handed it to me.

"You oughta read the papers more, Ivy."

"Oh yeah, 'cause I have the time," I retorted before I held the paper up to the candlelight and read:

**BLACK STILL AT LARGE**

_Sirius Black, possibly the most infamous prisoner ever to be held in Azkaban fortress, is still eluding capture, the Ministry of Magic confirmed today. _

_"We are doing all we can to recapture Black," said the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, this morning, "and we beg the magical community to remain calm."_

_Fudge has been criticized by some members of the International Federation of Warlocks for informing the Muggle Prime Minister of the crisis._

_"Well, really, I had to, don't you know," commented an irritable Fudge. "Black is mad. He's a danger to anyone who crosses him, magic or Muggle. I have the Prime Minister's assurance that he will not breathe a word of Black's true identity to anyone. And let's face it — who'd believe him if he did?"_

_While Muggles have been told that Black is carrying a gun (a kind of metal wand that Muggles use to kill each other), the magical community lives in fear of a massacre like that of twelve years ago, when Black murdered thirteen people with a single curse_.

I blinked thinking, _thirteen people with just one curse? How on earth does one person to that? Sounds like an absolute nutter to me._I looked into the shadowed eyes of Sirius Black, the only part of the sunken face that seemed alive. I'd never met a vampire, but Black, with his waxy white skin, looked just like one.

"Scary-lookin' fing, inee? said Stan, who had been watching me read.

"He murdered thirteen people?" I asked, handing the page back to Stan, "with one curse?"

"Yep," said Ern, "in front of witnesses an' all. Broad daylight. Big trouble it caused, dinnit, Stan?" he added darkly.  
Stan swivelled in his armchair, his hands on the back, the better to look at me.

"Black woz a big supporter of You-Know-'Oo," he said.

"What, Voldemort?" I asked, without thinking.

Even Stan's pimples went white and Ern jerked the steering wheel so hard that a whole farmhouse had to jump aside to avoid the bus. I totally forget about everyone's reactions to the name Voldemort.

"You outta your tree?" yelped Stan. "'Choo say 'is name for, Ivy?"

"It's only a name Stan," I said hastily, he glared at me. "Look I'm sorry, I forgot —"

"Forgot!" said Stan weakly. "Blimey, my 'eart's goin' that fast…"

"So Black was a supporter of You-Know-Who?" I prompted apologetically but with a roll of my eyes.

"Yeah, "said Stan, still rubbing his chest. "Yeah, that's right. Very close to You-Know-'Oo, they say… anyway, when little Ivy Potter, you, got the better of You-Know-'Oo , all 'is supporters was tracked down, wasn't they, Ern? Most of 'em knew it was all over, wiv You-Know-'Oo gone, and they came quiet. But not Sirius Black. I 'eard he thought 'e'd be second-in-command once You-Know-'Oo 'ad taken over.''

"Anyway, they cornered Black in the middle of a street full of Muggles an' Black took out 'is wand and 'e blasted 'alf the street apart, an' a wizard got it, an' so did a dozen Muggles what got in the way. 'Orrible, eh? An' you know what Black did then? "Stan continued in a dramatic whisper.

"What?" I asked.

"Laughed," said Stan. Jus' stood there an' laughed. An' when reinforcements from the Ministry of Magic got there, 'e went wiv 'em quiet as anyfink, still laughing 'is 'ead off. 'Cos 'e's mad, inee, Ern? Inee mad?"

"If he weren't when he went to Azkaban, he will be now," said Ern in his slow voice." I'd blow meself up before I set foot in that place. Serves him right, mind you… after what he did…"

"They 'ad a job coverin' it up, din' they, Ern?" Stan said. "'Ole street blown up an' all them Muggles dead. What was it they said 'ad 'appened, Ern?"

"Gas explosion," grunted Ernie.

"An' now 'e's out," said Stan, examining the newspaper picture of Black's gaunt face again. "Never been a breakout from Azkaban before, 'as there, Ern?"

"Beats me 'ow 'e did it. Frightenin', eh? Mind, I don't fancy 'is chances against them Azkaban guards, eh, Ern?"

Ernie suddenly shivered. "Talk about summat else, Stan, there's a good lad. Them Azkaban guards give me the collywobbles."

Stan put the paper away reluctantly, and I leaned against the window of the Knight Bus, feeling worse than ever. I couldn't help imagining what Stan might be telling his passengers in a few nights' time.

"'Ear about that Ivy Potter? Blew up 'er aunt! We 'ad 'er 'ere on the Knight Bus, di'n't we, Ern? She was tryin' to run for it…"

Me, Ivy Potter, had broken wizard law just like Sirius Black.

Was inflating Aunt Marge bad enough to land me in Azkaban?

I didn't know anything much about the wizard prison, though everyone I'd ever heard speak of it did so in the same fearful tone. Hagrid, the Hogwarts gamekeeper, had spent two months there only last year. I wouldn't soon forget the look of terror on Hagrid's face when he had been told where he was going, and Hagrid was one of the bravest people I knew. He'd have to be what with all the mad-ass creatures he kept.

The Knight Bus rolled through the darkness, scattering bushes and wheeliebins, telephone booths and trees, and I lay, restless and miserable, on the feather bed. One by one, wizards and witches in dressing gowns and slippers descended from the upper floors to leave the bus. They all looked very pleased to go.

Finally, I was the only passenger left.

"Right then, Ivy," said Stan, clapping his hands, "Longb'tom Manor 's next?"

"'Old tight, then." Ern said from the front.

BANG.

We were thundering along Neville's Road. I sat up and watched buildings and benches squeezing themselves out of the Knight Bus's way. The sky was getting a little lighter but it was still early in the morning, just before three to be exact. Ern slammed on the brakes and the Knight Bus skidded to a halt in front of the large iron gates of Longbottom Manor.

"Thanks, "I said to Ern as I jumped down the steps and helped Stan lower my trunk and onto the pavement outside.

"No problem Potter," Ern answered.

"'ave fun Ivy!"

And with a Bang, the night bus shot off round the corner and disappeared. I wasn't descended upon Aurors so that was a good sign. I dragged my trunk through the gates and down the path, I must have set of the ward alarms because Neville opened the door uncertainly.

"Ivy!?" Neville opened the door fully now, "What are you doing here?" I looked to him with a forced smile.

"You said I could come any time I wanted," I said, my voice cracked and I started to cry. So much for the brave face I planned on putting on.

When I woke up the next morning, I found myself in the guest bedroom that I always occupied when I stayed here. Toggle was curled up at my feet, obviously he got here safe and sound, which was good. He clearly sensed me sit up because as soon I did he leapt off the bed and stalked over to the sofa and pounced up onto the back of it. It was only then that I realised the Neville was on the sofa by the soft snoring coming from it. Toggle jumped down on top of Neville, who sat but abruptly, causing my Kneazle to hiss and streak under the bed. I rolled my eyes at his antics as my eyes fell to Neville, who was stretching and yawning.

"G'Morning Ivy," he mumbled mid-stretch, before rubbing his neck like he'd just had an uncomfortable night. I instantly felt guilty that he'd felt the need to sleep on the couch in here.

"Oh, Nev, you didn't have to stay in here," I replied.

"You were upset Ivy, I wasn't going to leave you alone, you're my friend." He smiled, looking at his watch. "We didn't sleep very long anyway, its only half eight." I didn't know what to say, I mean honestly, what would I do without my friends?

"Thanks Neville," I smiled. We planned to meet downstairs at nine and I was left alone in the guest room, well, except for Toggle. I leant down over the edge of the bed and peered underneath it. Toggle was grumpily staring back out at me, he was totally going to be in a bad mood now and probably hiss at Neville for at least two weeks.

"You jumped on him," I told him, "Now get out of there, he's gone." Toggle huffed and slipped out from under the bed before claiming a spot on a wayward pillow at the bottom of the bed.

Moody bugger.

I found everything so easy I mean I hadn't been here yet this summer so that was a miracle in itself. I showered, changed into old jeans and a Quidditch T-shirt and made my way down to Neville's kitchen.

Augusta Longbottom was sat at the end of the table with a Daily Prophet and a large cup of tea.

"Morning Mrs Longbottom," I smiled, trying to be polite even though I've just appeared at her house in the middle of the night.

"You've caused quite a flap overnight Miss Potter - the minister wanted to come you know," she said not looking up from her paper.

The minister? Of Magic?!

"I told him to forget it of course," Augusta continued, "He's not parading into this house, he wanted to send you somewhere safe," she snorted. What? I blew up my aunt!

"Have you ever been attacked in this house?" I wasn't really listening to Augusta and I knew better than to interrupt when she was like this, "I told him, I said Cornelius, Ivy Potter is staying here—"

Neville arrived at the exact moment in time, and Augusta was still talking. He took the seat next to mine and rolled his eyes at his Grandma, who consequently stopped and scowled at him. She was slightly creepy like that.

"Don't scowl at your Grandmother like that Neville," she warned, poking a finger at her Grandson.

"Sorry Gran," Neville replied as Quincey materialised in the Kitchen.

"Can Quincey get Miss Potter and Master Longbottom breakfast?" The little elf looked a lot different to Dobby, she was dark skinned and had huge brown eyes.

"Pancakes please Quincey," Neville answered politely.

"And you miss?" The little elf turned to me with a beaming smile. What the hell, pancakes sounded good.

"I'll have the same please Quincey," I smiled, the elf disappeared across the kitchen and I turned to Neville, "It looks like I won't be going to Azkaban after all."

Neville smiled, "You were never going to Azkaban Ivy, it was accidental magic, they don't put kids into Azkaban for accidental magic."

"They don't put kids in Azkaban full stop Neville Frank," Augusta interrupted, rising from her seat, "Try not to blow up the house while I'm out, Neville dear."

Neville blushed deeply as his Gran disapparated away and I eyed him suspiciously, "What does she mean?" He stayed quiet, shuffling his feet slightly in embarrassment.

"Nev?"

"Don't laugh okay?" I frowned at his comment before nodding in agreement, "I still can't control my magic, I do accidental magic still and on the odd occasion I can cause I lot of damage."

I blinked a few times, I still do a hell of a lot of accidental magic. There's nothing to be ashamed of.

"Nev, I still do accidental magic," I replied, "It's fine, your Gran is just being a Gran, they say things like that all the time."

He smiled and nodded but was still quite red in the cheeks. Luckily, Quincey appeared and Neville and I tucked into pancakes with chocolate syrup. The rest of breakfast was comfortably quiet except when either one of us suggested something that we might do today. We didn't come up with a lot really just that Neville and I were going to finish off our summer work in the garden to begin with and then just see what happened next.


End file.
